


Stanchrotica

by beta_19



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Geriatric Sex, M/M, PWP, actual plot twist, gross old person sex, old people fuckin', saggy old men doin' it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-04 22:52:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11565009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beta_19/pseuds/beta_19
Summary: See the tags. XDThanks to ma chums for beta-reading! :3





	Stanchrotica

The motel room was a fine, air-conditioned luxury after days of sweating in Stan’s camper with all the windows propped open. Rick shamelessly luxuriated in the clean, cool sheets spread smoothly upon the modest queen sized bed in their little room, arms and legs akimbo, ankles hanging off the end because he still had his shoes on. With some lazy maneuvering he toed his shoes and socks off and then squirmed up the bed to sink his head down into a pillow with a happy sigh, and the pampering was complete.

Almost. Stan was still out picking up some booze and snacks for a night in with the curtains drawn and the TV on. Rick normally would have gone with him, but the draw of the bed overpowered his better sense and well, here he was. Waiting.

He turned his head and spotted, of all things, an ancient TV guide on the night stand. With a reach of his long arm he plucked it up and brought it over for a closer look. On the cover was a posed glamour shot of a 90’s Pierce Brosnan as James Bond for Golden Eye. The booklet was a bit worn and soft at the edges, but clearly had been thumbed through at some point, judging by the lack of dust on it.

Rick squinted at the debonaire face, the square jaw and discerning eyebrow. Tall, dark and handsome, eh? He’d never found Pierce Brosnan to be particularly hot, but he imagined Stan in a well-trimmed three-piece, wielding a sleek Magnum with his hair slicked back. Rick would have laughed at the sheer hammy-ness of it all, but at the same time, the idea of Stan posturing sexily in a nice suit did have its appeal.

But that was back then, when they were younger, sweatier, stupider. Even then, neither of them had been particularly good-looking. Stan was simultaneously fat and skinny, built top-heavy on a pair of popsicle stick legs, and Rick knew too well that he was built like a giraffe with all the sex appeal of one, too. And yet, despite neither of them fitting any kind of existing models of beauty or attractiveness, their relationship remained highly physical. And it’s not like they only fucked in the dark.

Rick tossed the magazine back onto the nightstand. They were old now, so why bother with societal conventions of comeliness? The sex was still good, and just as filthy now as it was back then.

He thought about Stan’s hands, thick-fingered and rough-palmed, stroking the length of his inner thigh with a soft, gliding touch, his fingers searching thoughtfully, curiously, for any sensitive patch of soft, saggy skin that might quiver or horripilate at his touch. The way Stan’s hands interlocked in a snug, firm fit with his own long-fingered grasp, their digits laced together when one pressed the other into the mattress on either side, or up against a wall in a cramped bathroom stall. His humid breath, smelling unapologetically of beer or whiskey or canned stew from lunch earlier in the day, huffing behind Rick’s ear, followed up with a firm, chapped kiss along his throat or stubbled jawline. Stan smelt like the usual old man things — aftershave, Head ‘n Shoulders, a day’s worth of sweat from baking inside the bloody hot camper, the occasional cigar.

Rick let his eyelids slide shut, smiling faintly at his private thoughts. He liked these things about Stan, this collection of qualities that twigged at the fondness receptors of his deeply-hidden, grinchy Rick-heart. He liked nosing into Stan’s hair to plant a kiss on his head, sniffing him as if to make sure it really was _Stan_ and not some kind of doppelganger (a likely occurrence, given the oddity of Rick’s lifestyle). He liked running a finger along the broad shell of Stan’s ear and watching him flinch at the touch, only to lean back in and scruffle Rick’s face with his stubbly chin. He also liked jamming his tongue straight into Stan’s ear, just to hear him squeal like a complete girl. Usually this earned him a smack upside the head, but it was worth it to see him go completely red.

Rick also liked their sloppy kisses, each of them trying to eat the other’s face, vying to be the first to kiss the other into a dizzy, light-headed mess, to be the first to push the other onto the bed, to pull their legs up to the edge of the mattress, to rip the other’s pants off in a desperate struggle to top first. It wasn't always a pissy slap-fight to see who got topping privileges, but sometimes it was fun to see who’d give in first, because there really were no losers in that particular game.

Rick really loved Stan’s voice. Sure, the man was a horror at karaoke and he sounded like he had smoker’s lung on a good day, but that wasn't what Rick was about — it was about the other sounds Stan made. Like the low, guttural purr he uttered when Rick’s hands kneaded at his hairy back with his knuckles, massaging at the old, tender tissue beneath the orange-peel skin. Or the faint whimper he made whenever Rick had his hands in a sensitive spot, a sound that only Rick was allowed to hear, ever. Or the urgent moans and groans that Rick could wring out of him with only a twist of his hips. And nothing was sexier than the desperate panting in his ear when Rick had his face dipped in close over the man’s big shoulders, no matter who was riding who. The shiver in Stan’s breath when he was getting close never failed to raise goosebumps all along Rick’s arms.

This was very productive daydreaming, Rick thought, licking his lips. Without hesitation he squirmed out of his pants and kicked them aside, and shoved his hands down the front of his briefs: one hand to strangle the mongoose, the other to reassure his balls. His dick was already waking up with all of his constructive imagination, and with a few strokes he was fully operational.

From there, he fleshed out the corners of his day dream scenario with Stan laying hands on him first, his rough block-fingers running along the droopy curve of Rick’s sad, square butt, down the backs of his legs, with kisses on his scrunched-up, sometimes skinned knees. The kissing would then travel, a bit of hot tongue licking his inner thighs before pressing a sealing kiss against wrinkly skin pulled loosely over his old-man femurs. Stan sometimes liked to handle Rick like he were fine china, his big hands tracing over Rick’s more delicate features like his eyebrow or high cheekbones, or along his narrow jawline before leaning in to mash his big mouth against Rick’s thinner lips.

Rick then thought of Stan dragging a hot, wet tongue up along the length of his dick, lavishing attention under the glans where Rick liked it best. A few passing swipes of the tongue, then closing the mouth over the head — Rick bit his lip at the slight thrill of pleasure that shivered up his spine. He let his breath out in a slow, controlled huff, his thin chest rising and falling, his right hand jerking evenly but concentratedly.

He thought about Stan sucking his dick, about running his hands through Stan’s light grey hair whenever Stan dove deep or managed to slip some tongue into the stretched folds of his foreskin, beneath the head. It was a neat trick that Rick appreciated immensely, his fingernails dragging across Stan’s scalp with an accompanied purr of approval.

After slobbering enough on Rick’s john, Stan would then use his big hands to spread open Rick’s legs and push him onto his back. With enough spit he’d press a finger up against his asshole, to make sure Rick agreed with it first. If not, usually Rick just tensed up before kicking Stan off the bed, but more often than not Rick would try to initiate with Stan first.

And so with some massaging with the pads of his fingers, Rick imagined a grinning Stan to slip one, then two fingers up in there to help Rick get accustomed to the sensation. Lube figured in at some point, which—

Rick suddenly but deftly rolled aside off the bed to land in a neat crouch on his fingers and toes upon the carpet. On the floor was the backpack he'd brought in with him, which he then rummaged through until he produced what looked like a streamlined bottle of kids’ shampoo. The blue-tinted bottle, which was definitely not shampoo, claimed to be vanilla-flavoured and water-based, and had been a last-minute purchase at some greasy dildo shop about 200 km ago. Surprisingly they had not made off with any dildos from the store on account that they already owned most of the novelty types some way or another.

Bottle in hand, Rick bounced back onto the bed and neatly shucked off his underwear, snapping it like a rubber band at the TV set against the wall. A modest blob of lube was squeezed onto his fingers, and once he was on his back again, Rick reached down to slick up his cock first, fingers flicking deftly along the eager curvature. He slid his slippery hand down from bow to stern, relishing the smooth, cooling sensation of the gel with a low, satisfied purr. He played a little with the head, ringing his slicked fingers beneath it before gliding them down the thick shaft down to the base, then spreading his palm upon the nest of light hair at the bottom of his belly. With wet fingers he drew the tips along the soft skin of his balls, smoothing backwards then forwards again between them, enjoying the warmth of his own hand as he fondled them comfortably.

Rick paused to re-lube both hands before snapping the cap back onto the bottle and dropping it onto the bed. He then pressed his heels to the mattress and leaned a little to slip an arm beneath himself, his hand slipping between his buttocks. There, his meandering fingers sought out the dip at the base of his ass crack where he slipped a finger, then two, inside himself and groaned at the intrusion as he tipped his head back, exposing his throat to an imaginary Stan looming over his body.

From there, Rick imagined Stan exploring the inside of his asshole with his clever fingers, rubbing along the inside walls and massaging the tight entrance to coax the musculature to relax. It was always uncomfortable at first but Rick was used to it; he looked forward to the sensation of Stan pressed right up against him skin to skin, the flex of Stan’s thin, lean muscles against his inner thighs, their sweat and saliva running together. The sound of Stan’s faint groans and whimpers as his body succumbed to his driving need never failed to boost Rick’s already ramped-up libido. Opening himself up to Stan made the assfucking feel good. Using his body to force unbelievably erotic noises from Stan also felt incredibly good.

Just thinking about Stan manhandling him with his huge fucking man-paws made Rick issue a loud, uninhibited moan at the ceiling as he arched his back and pushed his fingers further inward. It would be polite, he thought, to check the back alley for cars before inviting Stan in, so to speak, but Rick was feeling confident after unloading earlier in the day. Wait, shit, did they have any condoms left?

Just as this thought flitted through his mind, there came a rattling and a thud against the motel room door. There was a quick jangle of keys followed by a clack and a creak as the door pushed open, allowing a blaze of afternoon August sunshine to fall in while silhouetting Stan with a 12-pack of beer cradled in his arms, topped by a mound of groceries in paper bags. Once Stan was indoors, he nudged the door shut behind him, cutting off the oven-like wave of heat that had wafted in briefly to compete with the air conditioning.

“Hey, Rick!” Stan’s gravelly voice came from behind the pile, which obscured his view of the room, “you won’t believe what was on sale at the market! There was a two-fer for pineapples! I got six!”

Rick didn't say a thing as he continued luxuriously fingering himself, his body twisted slightly with his shoulder beneath him so his arm could continue to reach behind him. He did however hum happily while Stan turned away to unload the case of beer and groceries into the tiny mini-fridge next to the TV stand.

“And I know we were running short on vodka, but I was feeling like margaritas, y’know?” Stan went on as he stocked the fridge. “So I got some margarita mix, and oh! Oh, I got some coconut cream so we can do piña coladas! Okay so I didn't get food for the week so much as booze, but it’s a start…”

While he was talking, Stan was only vaguely aware of the creaky moans and lusty whining going on in the background. Only when he realized Rick wasn't responding did he finally look over his shoulder — only to see Rick completely nude on the bed, knees in the air, legs open towards Stan and the TV set, hands tending to all angles of his nethers.

“Uhh,” said Stan.

“Did you get condoms?” Rick finally asked, without pause.

It took a moment for Stan to respond. “Just a sec.”

All Rick heard was a hasty rummage through paper bags and clinking of bottles before he heard the clink of a belt being undone.

“Goddammit,” Stan could be heard muttering over the rustling of clothes, “you had to go and get started without me…”

“Why waste a hot minute,” Rick laughed breathily, grinning as the mattress suddenly depressed on one side with a creak.

Shoes thudded to the carpeted floor, one, two. “How dare you masturbate without me,” Stan huffed as he impatiently fiddled with the buttons of his loud Hawaiian shirt. “Ah, fuck it.” With a quick flip, he pulled the shirt off up over his head and then left the clothing inside-out on the floor next to Rick’s pants.

“If I waited any longer, I’d be done,” Rick scoffed.

There was a chuckle from Stan as he crawled on hands and knees up the length of the bed, right up in between Rick’s legs. “Gitcher hands outta there,” he spat, smacking Rick’s hands off his dick. “I’ll show you who’s done.”

“That doesn't even make any-- _oouugh_ ,” said Rick, or more like, belched Rick. “--sense.”

“Jesus Christ,” Stan laughed, already moving his hand up and down Rick’s cock. “You’re a fucking menace.”

Rick propped his head up from behind with his forearms, and gazed down the pale length of his torso at Stan, who was now dipping his head to go down on him. Stan’s grey hair was tufting up at the ends where he’d whipped his shirt off in a hurry, his glasses were nowhere to be seen, and Rick could see the clear lines where Stan had tanned red upon his beefy arms and where his skin stayed light at about short-sleeve length. He was on his knees on the bed, likely because his knees wouldn’t have taken well to the hard floor, his face upon Rick’s jock. He had taken up the head of Rick’s dick into his moist heat of his mouth with a lavishing of his tongue in broad strokes. Rick licked his lips and let himself sigh into the sensation.

“What can I say,” Rick hiccuped. “I’m a romantic.”

Stan was a seasoned pro when it came to Rick. The blowjob started out slow and careful at first, mostly to get as much saliva coating his dick as possible before giving it to him hot and fast with the occasional graze of teeth and a rough, deep throating every now and then. One hand shifted up and down along the shaft where his mouth wasn't covering it, the other toying gently with Rick’s balls. But as Rick’s legs and belly began to tense, his hips beginning to undulate upwards into Stan’s grip, Stan switched from sack fondling to fingering, using spare saliva for lube to screw a digit up into the already well-worked hole.

Suddenly, Rick flinched and yanked himself off Stan’s finger. “Fingernails!” he hissed, “you jackass! Are you literally trying to tear me a new one?”

“What? Oh, geez, sorry,” Stan said, blinking. Quickly he switched hands, pushing a semi-wet finger back in. “There, is that better?”

With a grimace, Rick wriggled his hips a little as he settled back down onto the bed, his elbows pressed into the mattress on either side. “Okay… yeah, okay,” he breathed, letting himself mellow back down again. “Thanks, Edward Scissorhands.”

Stan puffed and rolled his eyes, but didn't make an issue out of it. Soon he was back to making Rick pant and grind at the attention to detail, and one finger eventually upgraded to three the longer he worked at it. By then, Stan’s jaw was a little sore and his own hard-on was heavy and aching between his hairy thighs.

“Hey buddy,” Rick groaned, rolling his hips into Stan’s hands, “this is nice and all, but if you’re not inside me in the next thirty seconds, I’m gonna come with or without you.”

Stan didn't even stick around to wait for Rick to finish speaking. With Rick already lubed up and purring like a hot engine, Stan pulled himself off Rick and blankly began looking around for something that he couldn't think of, due to the blood having relocated to lower quarters.

“Condom,” Rick demanded.

“Right.”

Some cardboard noises and a crinkly wrapper sound later, Stan was rolling a condom over his engorged cock, standing at the end of the bed. It took him half a moment to identify the tiny blue bottle tossed haphazardly on the bed, which he bent forward to reclaim.

“So how d’ya want your steak done, sweetcheeks?” he asked. With a snap he popped the top off the bottle of lube and drizzled a fair amount onto his wrapped member. “Stripes on the back, or on the front?”

“You cheesy old fuck,” Rick laughed. “I’m not high enough for your shit today.”

“Neither is the bed,” Stan remarked with a frown at the hotel mattress, “but thankfully you've got legs a mile long to make up for that.” He then leaned forward to grab Rick by the ankles and dragged him down to the edge of the bed.

Rick protested. “Can you _please_ ,” he said in a weary tone, with a roll of the eyes, “not treat me like I’m your fuckin laundry bag—”

 _“_ Oh, I don’t fuck my laundry,” Stan snickered, seizing Rick by the hips. With an awkward flip he managed to get Rick sprawled onto his chest on the bed, and while Rick continued to grumble, albeit limply, Stan was able to prop Rick up onto his knees with his hindquarters in the air.

“What, not even when it’s fresh outta the drye-- _shiiiit_ ,” Rick gasped, his entire body lurching forward on the bed as Stan casually lined himself up and pushed, irresistibly, up and into him. Rick couldn’t wriggle his way out of Stan’s grasp so he just writhed in a mad effort to accommodate Stan’s fat cock.

“Fuck,” he wheezed, as Stan held him steady. “Nnnghh…”

“You okay?” Stan breathed, sounding genuinely concerned.

“Oh my god,” Rick panted, his head hung downward between his elbows. “Just… just gimme… hah…”

Stan grunted as Rick’s body clenched and pulsed around him. His hands were already damp with sweat and slicked with lube, so while Rick huffed and panted in an effort to adjust, Stan slid a big hand down the narrow length of Rick’s back, dragging his fingers back along the brace of his ribcage. Watching Rick’s back muscles flex was fascinating — the man was all tendons, so any kind of musculature visible on him tended to be hidden under clothing most of the time. Feeling them twitch at his touch was doubly captivating.

Rick heaved a big sigh, his thin shoulders falling and rising. Taking it as a sign that Rick was ready, Stan tentatively pulled back slightly and pushed in a little more carefully,

This time Rick pushed back with a groan, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he bent his head all the way back to rest against Stan’s shoulder, his back arched, his hands clutching the padded headboard. Stan pressed a kiss along his jawline just under the ear, chest expanding as he breathed him in.

“Feel good…?”

“Ah… yeah,” Rick puffed.

Slowly but steadily Stan worked up a pace, letting Rick get accustomed to the easy rhythm of their hips swaying together. Stan eased in at a regular pace, in and out, his broad hands sliding over Rick’s angular hip bones down the V of his crotch, his fingers curving inward on Rick’s thighs, and pulling them apart slightly as he smoothed his hands back up. Rick’s cock was good and hard, and Stan took a moment to take it in hand to give it a bit of firm, sliding pressure. Rick moaned in response, his ribcage flaring, hips jerking involuntarily at the sensation.

Stan didn't dare bottom out yet, but Rick seemed squirmy and impatient, butting back against him and grunting in disapproval.

“Come on,” Rick grumbled, sweating. He pressed his head back against Stan’s shoulder. “C’mon, I can’t stand it...”

“You say that now,” Stan grunted, pushing a little further up into Rick. “I like it nice like this.”

“Mmmm,” Rick agreed. “Tender is fine, but I've been horny for the past hour without you and if I don’t come soon I’m gonna make your life miserable.”

“Well whose fault is that?” Stan grinned against the nape of Rick’s neck, his hands on Rick’s hips.

“Yours,” Rick snorted.

“You want me to punish ya, don’t you.”

“I _want_ you to punish my prostate,” Rick sniffed. “Sometime this century.”

“Fast and hard?”

“Fast and _fuck yeah like that—_ ”

Rick let out a heavy moan as Stan suddenly began reaming him good and hard. This time Rick didn't hold back, unleashing a torrent of drawn-out vowels and gusty whines from deep within his narrow chest. He swore at the wall in front of him, knuckles whitening on the top edge of the padded headboard, his knees buried deep into the mattress, the mattress springs bouncing back frantically while Stan’s hands gripped Rick’s hips as though Rick might suddenly slip from his grasp. Gasping for breath, Rick’s brows cinched together as pleasure brought a massive rush of adrenaline with it, searing straight up into his brain and leaving a rosy swath of red in its wake, spreading across his chest and throat and into the pained look on his face. It was a pleasant, terrifying kind of pain, dizzying and overwhelming, and Stan was doing a magnificent job of smashing his dick up against Rick’s prostate, jolting him with a burst of pure joy on every rapid pass.

Stan however was just getting started; he wasn't going to let him finish so easily.

With a sharky grin, Stan yanked Rick back away from the headboard and then spread his broad fingers down between Rick’s shoulder blades, pressing him down facefirst into the pillows. Rick accepted the rough manhandling with a soft grunt, and then uttered a breathy, chest-deep groan as Stan pushed back into him and continued at his original pace.

As feisty as Rick could be, Stan usually could stand his nasty temper and his bellyaching on the regular. This was because he had the power to turn Rick into a hot, needy mess — and that meant all kinds of shameful behaviour, like begging and crying and — well okay, Rick was pretty capable of doing that without Stan’s dick up his ass but Stan thought this way was more fun.

“Ahh… Fffuck… fuck!” Rick panted, gripping the pillow and smearing his face onto it. “Fuck yeah… I want you to just— nnnggh….”

“What’s that, Rick?” Stan heaved, slowing a little. “You want me to what?”

“Hah… ha… I want you to-- just… mmm… I want you to fuck me however you want,” Rick breathed. “Rough me up, use me, I don’t— I don’t care, just don’t stop—”

Not that Stan needed any more encouragement. He wanted more too, he wanted to — well, not hurt Rick, but definitely make him hurt for more. With both hands he gripped Rick’s hips and pulled out fully, his own hips rocking back to plunge right back in, only to elicit out of Rick’s asshole the longest, drawn-out fart in C-sharp.

It was like a balloon deflating for a half-second, long enough for Rick to suddenly bust out laughing and for Stan to go completely red.

“ _Dude_ ,” Rick snort-laughed, and wiggled his way off Stan’s dick. “ _What_ did I tell you—”

“Okay, I earned that,” Stan chortled, falling forward onto his hands on the bed. Rick meanwhile rolled over to flop back onto the pillows piled up against the headboard.

“Queef of the century,” he giggled, giving Stan’s arm a playful shove with his heel. “You’re welcome.”

“Is that all of it?” said Stan, now climbing over the bed to get to where Rick lounged away from him. “C’mere.”

“Oh, you’re blaming _me_ now?” Rick laughed, slapping ineffectually at Stan’s hands as the bigger man tried to grab him.

Stan managed to seize one of Rick’s skinny arms and roll him over onto his side, where Stan then cuddled up cozily behind him like the big spoon he was meant to be.

“Okay, you’re sure you've vented it all out now?” Stan murmured in Rick’s ear, pressing his chest up against Rick’s back.

“Gonna save one for the end,” Rick breathed, tipping his head back to nuzzle Stan’s rough cheek. “Just for you.”

“Romantic.” Stan set a hand upon one buttock, gave the saggy old bun a squeeze, and pressed himself up in between them. Slower, this time.

Rick was ready for him, his back curving to cleave with Stan’s beefy chest and belly. He raised his outside leg for Stan to use as leverage, and from there they continued to pulse back and forth, Stan’s breath huffing in Rick’s ear, Rick’s hand reaching back to grip Stan’s hip for dear life as Stan began hastening the pace. With Rick a little more relaxed now, Stan began giving it to him more briskly, sweat running from his temples, chest sliding against Rick’s back, his hands slipping up to Rick’s flat chest to hold him flush against him. Rick unabashedly belted out his hoarse approval at every second thrust, his stiff dick flopping on the bed, aching and untouched.

Eventually as they began running out of breath for words and were reduced to panting syllables, Rick rolled back over onto his back and wrapped his legs around Stan’s waist from beneath him.

“You okay with this?” Stan suddenly asked, on his knees and hands braced upon the bed on either side of Rick’s head.

Rick glared at him. “What? Yeah, what— why the fuck not?” he panted.

“It’s just…” Stan stared down at him, red-faced and positively wet with perspiration now, his fluffy chest heaving, his blood singing in his veins. “You haven’t gotten off yet.”

“So?” Rick blinked back up at him, brow bent, genuinely puzzled. “Neither have you.”

“Yeah, but…” Stan faltered. “I-I like this. I mean. Like this, uh. Missionary. I like seeing you like this, I— I’m gonna come in, like, two seconds.”

Rick rolled his eyes. “Holy shit. This is such a boner killer.” He unfolded his legs from Stan’s waist and neatly pulled himself out from under him. “My turn!”

Before Stan could figure out what was happening, Rick suddenly off the bed, snatching the box of condoms off the covers along with the lube. With neat precision he expertly sheathed his cock in a fresh condom, had a handful of lube, and was then shoving Stan over onto his back.

“Aw fuck no,” Stan heaved breathlessly, even as the used condom was yanked off his softening dick. “Come on, I’m not ready—”

“Too bad! You hesitated,” Rick sniffed as he climbed back onto the bed, his cock bobbing between his skinny legs. Stan was about to protest again when suddenly there was not one but two slippery fingers curling up into his asshole and he yelped.

“Ah! Fuck!” Stan’s adrenaline shot through the roof and he stiffened at the thrust, and his dick re-hardened anew. He flailed for a moment, squirming to pull himself off Rick’s fingers but Rick was not as gentle with him. Rick’s fingers twisted and corkscrewed mercilessly, greasy with lube, and Stan had to clap a hand over his own mouth to stifle the intensely desperate whine that rose up in his throat.

Rick grinned at him, enjoying the sight. He worked in a third finger though he slowed his attack, and revelled in watching Stan writhe. The big man grunted and strained to contain himself, hands twisting the sheets at his sides, knees drawn up, his hairy thighs tense and trembling. The more rough Rick got, the deeper Stan dug his heels into the mattress in an effort to push back.

“Look at you!” Rick purred, looking doubly impressed as he pressed his fingers upward. Stan arched his back up off the bed and let out a strangled moan. “All fuckin’ hot and bothered. Me likey.”

Stan left it at that. His faculties weren't anywhere to be found as Rick spread his knees apart and lined himself up neatly between his thighs. He waited until Stan made eye contact with him before slowly but steadily pushing himself up into him, using one hand to guide his dick into Stan’s tight hole and the other to balance himself over Stan’s body. Stan meanwhile was taking it rather well, mouth open and face flushed, eyes half-lidded as Rick’s gaze held him still. Only after Rick bottomed out, gently, did Stan allow himself to release the breath he’d been holding. As he shut his eyes, Rick pressed a hand over Stan’s damp forehead to slick back his greying hair.

“You’re so much better at this than I am,” Rick mumbled, leaning forward to press a kiss onto Stan’s rough cheek. He then nuzzled the old man’s big nose and began easing himself in and out with every slow breath, to make up for having been so savage and immediate earlier. Stan accepted the wordless apology by grabbing Rick’s face in both of his big paws and planting his lips onto Rick’s.

The kissing was easy and exploratory, tasting of salt and sweat and cigarette ash. Their tongues twined and played nice with each other, but soon the smacking and slurping tapered off as Rick began thrusting in earnest, panting in Stan’s ear as the slicking of their sweaty thighs and wet scraping of pubic hair was drowned out by the low thrum of the AC under the window. When Rick’s sudden need intensified, he grabbed Stan’s hands one by one, his long fingers thrust between Stan's beefy knuckles and pinned them to either side, using his grip for leverage as he began to pound hard into him. The mattress springs protested in rapid, rhythmic squeaking, matched only by the sounds coming out of Stan’s mouth. Hoarse gasps and lusty, high-pitched moans were thrust out of him by Rick’s intensity, notes that only Rick ever got to hear, that Stan would never make for anyone else.

As he got close, Rick whipped a hand off one of Stan’s wrists to grab Stan’s girthy dick pulsing on his stomach in a smear of lube and precum. He began to stroke Stan’s cock swiftly and expertly as if it were his own, his breath coming just as fast. At his touch, Stan gasped as though electrified, his hips lifting off the bed.

“Ugh, Rick,” he choked out, his shoulders hitching up, his one free hand fisted in the sheets of the rocking bed. “Rick, Rick, _Rick_ …!” And then he slammed his head back and came hard with a low cry of relief, directed up at the ceiling.

Cum jetted out in an artful splurt, landing once, twice, three times across his heavy belly and onto the curls on his heaving chest. That was all Rick needed, his dick pumping fast and rock-hard as Stan’s asshole spasmed around him, clenching tightly — the feverish heat and engulfing pressure, and the smell of sex and sweat in his nostrils and the sight of Stan red-faced and blissing out on the end of his cock pushed Rick to the edge and he followed him shortly, bent forward as all of his pent-up energy emptied out into him.

As the initial surge faded into heavy, sleepy satisfaction, Rick let himself fall bonelessly with a splat onto Stan, his breath hot against Stan’s chest hairs. Stan was likewise panting for breath, eyes closed as the lingering effects of the endorphins tingled in his toes and fingertips.

“And to think you were worried,” Rick eventually muttered, his cheek squished against Stan’s chest.

Stan raised a hand and ruffled Rick’s hair with a smile. They had both soaked the bedsheets, and they were sticking to each other with a combination of cum and sweat. Rick’s condom was going to start leaking if he didn't pull out soon. Everything was a mess, but damned if being gross didn't feel great.

“Want a margarita?” Stan mumbled.

“Sure.”

 

THE end, omg.


End file.
